


Tracking

by Missy



Category: The Adventures of Brisco County Jr.
Genre: Adventure, Coming Out, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue Missions, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bowler and Socrates are encouraged to stake their claims when Soc gets kidnapped by a gang who wants to get their hands on a deed to a silver mine owned by the Westerfield Club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tracking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertScribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertScribe/gifts).



“You expect me to ride how many miles to Tuscaloosa for how much pay?”

Socrates Poole reached for his temple as the growling bark of his associate and lover filled the room - but soon his laughter spilled sarcastically forth as he rubbed fiercely at his own forehead. “Bowler, I’m afraid it’s an economical matter. The price of silver’s been in a freefall ever since that market fluctuation last week, and belts are tightening all over the nation.”

“Are you saying I need to make sacrifices?” asked Bowler.

“No, I’m saying there’s a reason for this trip. The Barons are sending you and Brisco to Alabama. There’s been a disturbance in one of the nation’s best producing silver mines, and they think Bly’s behind it. They know they two of you are the only bounty hunters in the world with enough know-how to handle the situation.” 

Bowler’s features sharpened briefly before he resigned to the plan with a grunt. “All right,” he muttered. “You’d better not be paying Brisco double.”

“As always,” said Socrates, “you'll get a fifty-fifty even split of the proceeds once you complete your assignment.”

Bowler just grumbled and picked up his hat from where it had lain discarded on Socrates' desk. “You're lucky I put up with you. And that's only because of how good the pay is.”

Socrates grinned. “I’m sure there are other, more material reasons for our union. Not limited to but including my business acumen and your very prodigious skills.”

Bowler picked his hat up and stomped his way out of the room, to the relative quiet of the lobby. “Your skills have a lot to do with it,” he said, leaving Socrates to pull at his collar, cheeks warming at the meaning of his words.

 

 

*** 

 

 

It had started the way most things seemed to start between them, because of Brisco. Six months back they’d booked three rooms for a trip across Santa Fe; Brisco and Dixie had taken one, Comet had taken the second without asking Brisco first (and no, Bowler didn’t ask the horse if he’d be comfortable sleeping outside; knowing Comet he’d be happy force both Bowler and Socrates to sleep in the corral while he kept the warm feather tick), and so Bowler and Soc ended up sharing a bed. It was a long night, the room was very cold, and – even though it was a cliché, the ultimate instance of one thing leading to another - they’d ended up trying to figure out how hard they could make a rope-coil mattress shake. It had been a secret thing between them ever since, and neither were partial to blabbing about the truth when they had a good thing going on.

Bowler knew that Soc had an ulterior motive lurking beneath the surface of his easy gesture. And so he stayed distracted all the way to Kansas, when Brisco looked up from their latest round of gin to realize that his partner wasn’t paying attention to the game. “Come on, Bowler, that’s the fifth round I’ve won.” He started scooping the cards back up and re-shuffling the deck. “If you don’t feel like playing just say so.”

Bowler frowned. “Didn’t say I was tired,” he said. “Just deal me another hand.”

“Neither did I," said Brisco. "I swear, it’s like your mind’s on another planet.” Brisco’s brow lowered, his voice deepened, and after he dealt them each a fresh hand he said, “Is it a woman?” With even more enthusiasm he then asked, “Are you with Lenore again?”

“She’s busy with her mayoring,” said Bowler quickly. “It’s no one, got it? I've just been busy thinking about...grapes. Harvest is about to come in.”

Brisco’s eyes narrowed. He rubbed his chin, let out a hum and said nothing else. 

Bowler picked his hand up with a grumble and called for an eight. Even if Brisco figured things out, he reasoned to himself, he could out-run him. He wasn’t the only one sitting at that table who knew how to avoid a tracker.

 

 

**** 

 

 

Socrates came to Bowler that night wearing a green striped, knee-length nightshirt complete with mobcap and glasses. And a come-hither look, which was easy to ignore in that kind of outfit.

Bowler could only stare as he unbuckled his gun belt. “…That’s what you call sexy?”

Socrates frowned. “The gentleman who sold it to me at the store told me I could seduce anyone right out of their wits in this.”

“Only if they’re witless to start with.” Bowler dove under the covers, shivering. “Why didn’t you pay extra for a fireplace?”

“I would if it were my money.” Socrates reached for Bowler as he surfaced. “Hello.”

“Hey.” They kissed, a gesture that deepened and grew immediately, instantly passionate. Their bodies were well-acquainted with the warm, eager hands and lips of the other, and their minds joined in that harmony without further thought, further consideration.

Much later, Socrates leaned against the headboard, cleaning his foggy glasses. “Well, that was splendiferous.”

“Heh, is that what you call what we did?” Bowler stretched out against the bed, yawning. “I call it burning hot loving.”

“I suppose you might call it that, too,” Soc said agreeably. He returned the glasses to his face then scooted down and under the bedclothes, looping an arm over Bowler’s middle. “We have a few hours until we reach our destination. Rest might be a good idea.”

“Yeah. Guess I could use a little shut-eye.” He pecked Socrates on the forehead before rolling toward the gas lamp and blowing it out. In the depths of his sleep, hours later, he felt Soc leave the bed, and rolled over to fill his warm, empty space and onto his belly, absorbing the scent and memory of their time together.

But when the morning sun blasted its way into their small sleeper cabin, Bowler noted that Soc had not returned – and had likely left the cab abruptly, if the overturned water glass by the door of the heavily carpeted room and the fact that he’d left his sleep shirt behind meant anything. His mind immediately kicked into bounty hunter mode; if anyone could track whoever - or whatever – had taken Socrates it was Bowler. Dressing quickly, he followed crushed carpet and smears of blood toward the rear of the car. The trail went cold, chillingly, right there, with two sooty boot-shaped splotches on the metal floor. There was a worn spot on the metal awning over his head; if he had to guess, he’d bet that they had to use a rope to swing themselves to safety. There was no further sign of blood, and there hadn’t been enough in the hallway to suggest murder. If he had to guess from the size and age of those prints, they probably jumped the rails a hundred miles back, in Bug Tussle. 

That was when he noticed Socrates’ slipper, jammed between the caboose’s iron support railings. He grabbed it from its prison and squeezed it sharply in his hand. 

 

If he could find the missing slipper then he’d find his lover. 

 

 

**** 

 

 

Bowler found Brisco and Dixie peacefully sharing breakfast in the dining car. The girl barely earned a double-take from Bowler; he was used to her appearing out of the blue during jobs, and he didn't expect today to be an exception to the rule. The silence immediately shattered by Bowler's entrance; staring down his friend, Bowler flopped the slipper onto the table between the basket of rolls and a carafe of coffee. Brisco blinked at the shoe and pulled his coffee away from the edge of the table in response. “Nice shoe, Bowler. Where’s the other one?” he asked. 

“On Socrates’ foot,” Bowler said. “Someone took him last night; we need off this train, now.”

“Bowler, we’re halfway to Alabama! The only way you’re gonna stop this train is by finding the emergency break, and you know how unpredictable that old thing could be. We’re liable to give half the passengers black eyes if we stop…” 

Bowler had left Brisco in mid-lecture, forcing the bounty hunter to chase after him.

There were no broken noses in the end, but there were some bruised rumps and broken spectacles. Bowler simply shrugged and told the engineer to bill the government.

 

 

*** 

 

Having liberated their horses from the stock car, the threesome found themselves following Bowler’s lead down the sunbleached tracks, going east four miles on horseback and then ten south-by-southeast. They road apace, deep into the mountains, over heavy tracks and past teeming forests, until they were just ten miles away from the next big outpost in Bug Tussle. Bowler kept his eyes on the track-speckled ground and the bootprints that littered them. There were three sets going in the same direction, one that of a slipper and a bare footprint. 

Brisco kept his worried eyes on his partner. “Uh, Bowler,” he said, taking a swig from his canteen after offering some to Dixie, “you should have some water. It’s hotter than the devil’s lips out here.”

“I’m fine,” Bowler said, flicking his reins. His horse trotted patiently along in response. “I’ll take some when we stop to water the horses.”

“We should’ve stopped a few hours ago,” Dixie observed. “Even Comet’s starting to droop a little.” 

“I’ll be fine when we find Socrates,” he said. “Just keep a move on til we hit a shady spot.”

“You seem awful worried about Soc,” Brisco observed. It was a leading statement. Bowler’s gaze sharpened.

“Mind your business, Brisco.”

“That’s the crux of it,” he said. “I don’t know how to mind my own business when I have no idea whose business I’m trying to mind...." Brisco trailed off and reached for Bowler’s arm, cocking a finger toward the middle distance. Both men took note of a large lean-to and the smoke billowing out of its chimney, sitting a good distance from the trail but visible in the distance. Between them stood a large wheat field and a steaming hot spring ringed by a giant copse of trees. The prints all led there, and it was several hundred feet away from where they’d stopped. 

“Let’s sneak ‘round the back,” Dixie whispered. “If the horses can stay quiet.”

“Of course they can. Comet graduated at the top of his class in mime school.”

As Dixie performed a double-take at Brisco’s declaration, Bowler spurred his horse forward. He’d rescue Socrates yet!

 

 

 

**** 

 

 

 

First they secured their horses to the trees; testing the springs they found the too warm to drink from, and had to fill their own canteens from them and give the horses the last fresh water they had. Unphased, they gathered together under the lean to’s sole window, carefully peering up into the space between the casement and sill. 

Inside they could easily spot Socrates, trussed up and bound behind the table, wearing a feed sack and bearing a crusty cut on his forehead. He stared up at his captor, and the voices speaking to him were familiar.

“Nice punchin’, Clive,” came the booming voice of Jack Stone. “You swear on your yellow-bellied heart that you ain’t lying about these numbers?”

“On my honor,” Socrates said. “I promise you that that’s the combination to the safe at First National that contains the deed to the silver mine.”

An evil smile crossed Jack’s face. “Boys, we’re gonna eat like kings tonight!”

One dissenting voice cut into the mix. “What if he’s funnin’?”

“Oh, he’s not funnin’,” said Jack. “Funnin’ boys get thrown over cliffs into thorn cherry hollows, and I think Mister Poole’s too smart to fun, ain’tcha?”

“Of course!” Soc laughed. “I’m the least fooling fool ever!”

“Right. I’m gonna take these number. Frenchy, Clive, you watch over him ‘til I get back.” Bowler, Dixie and Brisco stayed inconspicuous and low to the ground as Jack left. Then they huddled into a circle to formulate a plan. 

“Eventually one of ‘ems gonna have to use the faculties,” Dixie pointed out. “I’ll pose as a lost little traveler and knock him out, while you two go through the front and take care of the other one.” 

“Great idea! We’ll just need to nudge Mother Nature along,” said Brisco.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” said Bowler, his hand still resting against the sill as if he could reach through it and stroke his lover's face .

Dixie strode over to a very large berry bush and plucked up a handful of shiny fruit from its branches. “Do either of you boys know how to make pancakes?”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

As it turns out, Bowler knew how to make ashcakes – much simpler to create and roasted quickly over the steam from the hot springs. Dixie had the spare empty container to beat the mixture together in, and Brisco had enough skill to turn the batter over with a flat stick; soon enough they were wrapping the cakes up in a bundle and leaving them at the cabin door.

“Are you sure those berries ain’t poison?” asked Bowler.

“Of course I’m sure; they taught us how to tell the difference at the convent.” The threesome sat and waited for the cakes to take effect. It wasn’t long before Clive emerged and rushed toward the outhouse; Bowler leapt on him and knocked him unconscious before he could mount an attack. Bowler gave the man's head one extra, hard punch while e Brisco bound and propped him against the side of the cabin. 

“You didn’t even let me get a kick in,” complained Dixie.

“He was armed,” Brisco said, holding up the buck knife he’d grabbed from Clive. Whatever he'd meant to do to protect her was lost on Dixie's 

“I can handle myself and you fellas are no fun,” she said, and cut herself off on a cry as Bowler blindly charged the door. Fortunately Brisco was right behind him, and was a good aid in the shoot-out between Bowler and French. When the dust cleared it was Bowler’s bullet that lodged in Frenchy’s shoulder, disabling him. Soon he joined his partner outside, and while Brisco went about binding them together Bowler untied Socrates.

“You fine?” Bowler said.

“Very,” sighed Socrates. “I only wish I had two shoes.”

Bowler then did something extraordinary. He bent down and quite gently placed Socrates’ foot into the empty shoe, right before kissing his ankle. Only the creak of the front door gave away Brisco and Dixie’s presence, and both immediately pretended to be busy, unable to keep amusement from seeping into their faces, even as Brisco labored under the weight of two unconscious crooks.

Brisco cleared his throat in the ensuing silence. “I’m gonna go chase after Jack.” He pitched Clive onto the bed, then followed that up by throwing his brother onto the mates. “Dix, you keep watch over ‘em.”

 

“Don’t rush,” Socrates said. 

"You gave them the combination!" Brisco protested.

“Indeed - in prime numbers,” bragged Socrates. “And rounded them off to the first tenth. He’s going to be there for quite awhile.”

 

“That’s my smart….uh, boss,” Bowler said, his hand clasping Socrates’ foot. Dixie grinned. Brisco coughed. Bowler, bemused, let go as his lover as Socrates suddenly stood and pushed his way out his chair.

 

“Not....as smart as you think." Socrates grimaced and clutched his stomach. "What on earth did you put in those cakes?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer before rushing to the safety of the outhouse. 

 

Bowler followed along, worried, at his lover’s heels. There would be time for an explanation later.

 

 

*** 

 

 

The sun had set by the time Socrates emerged, relieved and tired. Bowler was still there; worried, a bit solicitous, but none the worse for wear himself. Dixie was doing her duty and Brisco was nowhere in sight. Soc brushed Bowler's solicitous hand off, and they came to sit together out on the lean-to’s porch. “Thought I wouldn’t get here in time,” said Bowler, after a time. 

“I knew you would,” said Socrates. “You have the talent and the willpower – and you’re much smarter than Jack.” 

“You’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Why no,” Soc laughed. “If I was trying to do that I’d tell you you were sweet and walk away, instead of sitting here telling you that endangering your lovely body scared me out of my wits. I do love you.”

“Oh damn.”

“Is that all you can say?”

“Oh damn, you’d better not touch my Lalique when we move in together.”

The kiss that followed blotted out the whole wide world for Bowler – even Brisco, who approached with a trussed Jack. He watched them thoughtfully before speaking up. "Now that’s the coming thing.”

Socrates blushed to the roots of his hair as Brisco shouldered jack into the lean-to. Bowler followed him. “Brisco…”

Brisco grinned. “Congratulations, both of ya. Treat Soc well. His heart’s pretty easy to break and after everything he’s been through with Rita he deserves a little happiness.” And then he left them both at peace.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it handled,” Bowler called into the empty air.

With that, Socrates turned to Bowler. “Do you know what I really want?"

"A pair of pants?"

“And a big bowl of stew. I think I could manage even in a sack."

They strode arm-in-arm toward the door. "Bowler," Socrates said quietly, "Are you sure..." he trailed off as Bowler dipped and kissed him.

“Answer your question?”

Socrates grinned. “Definitely.” He straightened his foggy glasses and they headed inside and waited for the sun to rise in the company of their friends.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist trying some Bowler/Socrates for you; I'd never considered the pairing before but it really works for me, hope you like it.


End file.
